Tears of Blackness
by ThePhoenixHasRisenFromTheAshes
Summary: AU. One-shot. Sirius Black broke out of Azkaban and risked everything for his godson, Harry Potter. But he was her father. Why didn't he come for her instead? The inner turmoil of a daughter believing herself to be forgotten and abandoned.


**Tears of Blackness**

The thick, choking sob forced its way up her throat, but still she refused it exit. Stubbornly, she ignored the traitorous burning of her tear ducts which reminded her of the overwhelming temptation to break down and cry. Never had she felt such pain, a raw agony that seemed to come directly from her heart, as though someone had sliced straight through the organ with a knife. _And in a way they did. _It was at this thought that she truly did lose it.

Letting out an anguished shriek, she flung her arms out before her, sending the collection of typically-teenaged clutter on top of her bedside table to every corner of the dormitory. The sound of smashing glass reverberated around the room as uncontrollable magic unlike any she had experienced since the age of five burst forth; windows and mirrors shattered. She didn't even notice the pulsing red ribbons of her arms, where shards of glass had torn her skin on their whirlwind path between the furniture.

He was her_ father. _Did that mean nothing? That he was all that she had left, he was the one hope that she had been clinging on to all this time. Years spent waiting and wishing, that somehow everyone was wrong, that actually her _dad_ cared enough about her that he _didn't_ murder his friends. That the truth was that he _didn't_ go to prison and abandon her and her mother, for the latter to commit suicide and the former to be palmed off onto care home after care home after care home. That he loved her.

But, no. No. No.

Hogwarts had become her sanctuary at the age of eleven – a kid who had been forced to be independent her entire life, allowed to be just that: a kid. Five years ago, when she'd stepped through those magical doors for the first time, little did she know that within a month her hard research at the library would pay off. She would discover, at long last, why Professor McGonagall had acted so odd when the subject of her family was brought up. When the transfiguration teacher had arrived at the home in which she was staying, all that had been revealed was her true last name, Black, and her father's first name, Sirius. No information, no details. And even the eleven-year-old her was not fobbed off with the elderly woman's claim to have not known any more, the tell-tale aversion of her eyes conveyed all that the girl had needed to know. It was when she discovered the grisly tale that she first began to pray to Merlin that there was some chance that it was not true.

As she remembered the moment of outward resignation, yet inward defiance, like a flicker of a candle refusing to be blown out by the gale force winds of a storm, she realised that she had flung herself face-forward onto her four-poster, with its blue bedding. The wetness of her pillow told her that she'd failed. She had lost the battle. She had given in to pain.

_Speaking of pain. _Finally, the throbbing of her gashed arms had apparently reached her central nervous system.

* * *

The discovery in August was as clear as if it had been just moments earlier. The newspaper article detailing the escape of the prisoner had brought about such a change in her deepest, most private being. Rather than the emotional outburst one might have expected (such as was being displayed at this moment), it was as though something akin to determination, yet not quite, had settled in the very pit of her stomach, and it was oddly comforting. A drum beat steadily, making every pore in her body vibrate. _He's out. He's coming. He's out. He's coming. For you. _There was no fear. If anything, she felt anticipation at the very idea that her dad – her dad! – was on his way to find her, perhaps as he had been dreaming of for the entire twelve years of his imprisonment.

Maybe it was immature, but the child in her still desperately clinged to the hope that somebody had been searching for her, somebody wanted her, somebody cared.

The Ministry's easy-to-interpret suspicion that Sirius was going to show up at Hogwarts only cemented this belief.

* * *

In contrast to such a vivid recollection, her memory of a conversation less than an hour previously was an absolute blur. Living up to the reputation of her house, she had been buried inside a book whilst lounging in the shade of the old oak by the lakeside, which provided extremely welcome protection from the scorching rays of the sun. She had been as oblivious as her fellow year mates when they chose to sit just the other side of the thick trunk; neither the trio of Gryffindors nor she knew the other was there.

For her part, this changed the moment they mentioned his name. And then it was relentless. As two explained in detail to the third the adventures of the previous night – which he apparently hadn't been privy to – there was one seemingly innocent fact that reverberated around her mind like a bludger determined to knock a chaser out from the scoring area. He had been here, in the grounds, practically within shouting distance.

_He'd come to protect Harry. He'd offered Harry Potter a home. Not her._

It was all she could do to stop herself from screaming out there and then. The few moments it took for the story to be finished and for the three teens to make their way back to the castle were agonisingly slow. Then, as if in a trance, she rose to her feet.

* * *

As if the revelation alone – never mind the terrible ramifications – had not been enough, she further had to overhear another painful exchange, this time between Minerva McGonagall and Remus Lupin.

"Are you seriously trying to tell me that that quiet little Ravenclaw who I've been teaching for a whole school year is-?"

"Yes, the child is Sirius Black's daughter. I thought you should know, in light of…. Everything," the female had replied.

At this stark reminder of her apparently insignificant relation, she staggered on through the endless corridors to her dormitory with the elegance and coordination of a drunk, half-blinded by the tears threatening to fall, and dazed by the fog which had descended upon her brain. However, she had, unknowingly, moved on too early, and as a result missed one final comment from her transfiguration professor which may have changed her outlook entirely:

"But he never knew about her."

**A/N This is the first ever fanfiction that I've uploaded for people to read, so I'd really appreciate any comments that anyone has! Thanks, Phoenix.**


End file.
